


Campfire

by Starlithorizon



Series: In the Sun [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Camping, Female Sherlock Holmes, Femlock, Gen, a silly thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's newest case takes the consulting detective and her loyal blogger back to the Dartmoor wilderness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Campfire

**Author's Note:**

> So I've noticed that there's quite a lot of angst in this series, and I really wanted to write something kind of fluffy and maybe a bit silly. Then I realised, kind of out of nowhere, that I _really_ love the idea of Sherlock camping and absolutely hating it. So then this happened.  
>  Anyway, it's not really a character study or study of emotion like I usually do, so, you know.

John hadn't known what he'd expected when he and Sherlock donned their most "eco-friendly and sustainable" disguises (basically tee-shirts with slogans like  _Reduce, Reuse, Recycle_ and jeans) and became temporary members of a nature club. They didn't call themselves a nature club, of course, but John couldn't remember the actual name of it, and he certainly wasn't going to ask Sherlock. All they knew for certain was that there was someone picking off members of the group, and Sherlock was in Case Mode. John had a real love/hate relationship with Case Mode, as it was funny and highly irritating.

John got a few good laughs out of seeing his best friend dressed less-than-impeccably, her clothes made of denim and cotton knit rather than silk and wool and whatever else it was that filled her overflowing wardrobe. She wore jewelry and clothes that donated proceeds to polar bears and trees, she bought things like reusable coffee cups (which John actually was pleased about), and when she ate, it was only food labelled _Organic_.

Now, the good doctor was as passionate about going green as anyone. He recycled, he used less water, he had even planted a few trees back in the day. But seeing how the people in this nature club lived, and how he and Sherlock were to live until the case was solved, he realised that for some, it was less about doing good and more about riding around on a high horse and sneering at everyone else walking around on the ground.

Nature club complaints aside, the famous detective had gone incognito with fake glasses and dyed hair. They had become Sheila and John Brown, the young married couple with an intense fixation on fixing the earth. They'd attended meetings for the past two weeks before Sherlock found herself a solid lead.

"The camping trip this weekend," Sherlock said, waving around a fork in the crowded little vegan cafe she'd taken to frequenting during the case. John wasn't entirely sure what was on his plate, just that it was very green and leafy and that it most certainly not orange chicken.

"What about it?" John asked before braving a bite of his salad. It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad either. He was mostly disappointed that it wasn't greasy takeout, truth be told.

"That's where the next murder will take place. It's perfect!"

"Wait, _camping_?" John choked out, eyes wide.

Sherlock snorted and speared a mushroom on her plate. "Yes, John, camping. Surely you're familiar with the concept?"

"Well, yeah. Grew up doing it. But _you_ camping? I can't see that happening. You barely even like taking walks in the park. How're you gonna sleep in a tent?"

"You forget, John, that I'm adept at sleeping outside," she said. There was a slightly jaunty tilt to her words, but her eyes tightened slightly as she said them. He knew what sorts of things she'd been through in the past, some bits more recent than others. There was a reason why she was so sympathetic to London's homeless.

"I— all right. But if I'm going camping, I expect to have a good time. That includes hiking and all that, and you're going with me, Miss Overly-Civilised."

"John, this is hardly a holiday," she drawled, raising an eyebrow. John say back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"For you, maybe. For me, it's a free trip."

* * *

When they found out that the trip was in Dartmoor, John wasn't sure whether to laugh or glower at Sherlock. It was the stupidest sort of luck that they were meant to return to that hellish place.

"I swear, Sherlock, if you try to drug me again, I will destroy every experiment you ever conduct ever again for the rest of my life," John hissed as he helped his flatmate load the car with their brand new camping gear. It was all top-of-the-line, as most things Sherlock acquired were, but that didn't lessen her constant glare aimed at the colourful nylon bags in the boot.

"You already made me promise to tell you before using you in experiments," she groaned, looking for all the world like she continually suffered for John's sake.

"Which is good, considering some of the experiments you tried to get me to help with."

"Oh, really? Name one."

"Last week, you wanted to feed me tiny doses of hallucinogenic mushrooms to see at what point I'd start to feel it."

"That's an isolated—"

"The week before, you wanted to take some of my blood to see how it would react to whatever that base was and then compare it to _your_ blood."

"All right, John—"

"The week before _that_ , you wanted to see how my skin would react to that lye mixture you made up."

"Yes, thank you, John, I won't conduct experiments without your consent. Now, can we get back to packing this car? We're leaving soon, and we can't do that if you're busy nattering at me about an agreement we made years ago."

John chuckled to himself and helped her pack the last few things into the car as she grumbled. It was no surprise that Sherlock didn't care for camping, but her animosity toward the idea was hilarious. She'd spent the last four days bemoaning the upcoming trip, complaining about dirt and bugs before even leaving the flat. John found it funny that she could be perfectly content when covered in literal blood and guts, or even dirt and bugs, but when she was outside of a lab (or kitchen), she would whinge constantly.

She drove again, barely snickering at the fact that John still didn't have a driving license. They followed the battered hybrids of the other members of the club, their own rental puttering along right behind. John relaxed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window as Sherlock drove on.

* * *

John and Sherlock struggled to set up the bright orange tent as the others, tents up, wandered around and mingled. He wanted to say that she was too busy studying the group to suss out the murderer, but she was having trouble simply because she was bad at it.

"Right," John said snappishly. "You go get everything else out of the boot while I finish this, okay? Or at the very least do what you're meant to."

A member of the club, a young woman named Adelaide, was near enough to hear John's orders and raise an eyebrow. She slunk over, a sneer painted on her face under her organic makeup.

"What is it she's meant to do?" Adelaide asked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking mutinous. Sherlock smirked at John as she dropped the collapsible tent poles at his feet.

"Ah, she really came here to, er, socialise," John stammered. "Right, dear?"

"Indeed, darling," Sherlock drawled. She turned to Adelaide with a sunny grin. "Would you do me a favour and tell Olivia that I'm looking for her?"

The younger girl smiled cheerfully at Sherlock and scarpered off to do her bidding, but not before shooting John a glare.

"I thought Olivia had no idea who the killer was," John muttered as he assembled the tent without his friend's help. She set about unfolding the camping chairs and checking to make sure the lanterns worked.

"She doesn't, but she can still help somehow. So you do your silly mountain man thing , and I'll do my job, and hopefully we'll be gone by sunrise."

John had been looking forward to camping and spending at least one night doing the proper camping thing. He actually enjoyed it, and he was sure Sherlock would too, as long as they were within shouting distance of a good coffee shop. But for now, they were setting up a campsite with fifteen obsessively organic and eco-friendly Londoners in _Dartmoor_.

* * *

Two hours into the trip and the sun was mostly over the horizon. A campfire had been built and set alight, and the club sat around it, chattering and looking quite content. Sherlock paid close attention to everyone sitting around the fire while John paid close attention to the flames licking at the logs just a few feet away.

At one point, though, Sherlock let out a loud, strangled yelp as a moth flew at her face and then away. John barely contained a laugh as he consoled his friend, reminding her that it was only a moth and she'd done enough tests on the little beasts to know that they were harmless.

It wasn't until after everyone crept into their tents that anything else interesting happened. He lay in the tent, watching the world through the mesh screen covering the door, knowing that Sherlock and Olivia were hidden in another tent, watching. When the sharp, tearing sound of a tent unzipping rang through the campsite, he could only imagine Sherlock practically vibrating in her excitement. John checked his gun and crouched near the door, ready to jump out should he be needed.

In the end, he ended up getting tangled in the tent and Sherlock ended up tackling Adelaide to the ground, the police screeching into the campsite and hauling her away. It was hardly even midnight.

"That was so much easier than I'd anticipated," Sherlock said, brushing the dirt away from her clothes.

"That may be so," John began, crossing his arms and preparing for an argument, "but you've had no sleep in thirty-six hours, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you drive back to London without getting at least a few hours of sleep. So you will go to bed right now and we can head out in the morning."

Sherlock sighed and grumbled and threw her arms around like an infuriated teenager, moaning about how stupid it was that John didn't drive and that she didn't need sleep and that she wasn't tired, on and on and on.

When John crawled into the tent ten minutes later, she was snoring lightly against the pillow, still in her dirty eco-clothes. He grinned and lay down next to her, already anticipating the next ridiculous case.


End file.
